! ! ! ! THE CAMPO SANTO QUARTERLY REVIEW ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! Written and Curated by Campo Santo Ombudsman Duncan Fyfe Volume 1 • Quarter III • 2014 A Note from the Campo Santo Ombudsman ......................................................5 A Wolf Destroyed by Fire .....................................................................................6 The Art of Fiction ..............................................................................................12 Cocktails at Pamplona ........................................................................................18 ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ~ Acknowledgements! ~ The Ombudsman would like to thank Alex Ashby and Aisling Conlon. A NOTE FROM THE CAMPO SANTO OMBUDSMAN ! SUMMER IS HERE, and with it a special summer issue of the Campo Santo Quarterly Review. Summer is for going to the beach, fancy cocktails, and building a hot summer body, and by bringing together video game development and literary journals written by corporate Ombudsmen, I think we have a celebration of summer that would please even !the great sun god Ra. For Campo Santo, the summer has been busy, if low profile. The team has expanded, with the additions of engineer Patrick Ewing, programmer Paolo Surricchio and, working remotely from London, animator James Benson. Campo Santo has people in four cities now: San Francisco, Vancouver, London and Winchester, and the pattern that forms when you plot those disparate locations on a map is probably something to keep !an eye on, for sure. Jake Rodkin, Campo Santo’s co-founder, told me that much of the team’s recent focus has been on putting together a trailer for its first game, Firewatch. When the trailer is shown at the end of August, it’ll be the most that the company has revealed of the game !to date. “I am equal parts excited and anxious,” Mr Rodkin said to me. “We told people in March that we were making the game. That felt like something, but really we didn't say much. We didn't actually say anything at all, other than there is a game called Firewatch and it has a very pretty website. What the game actually IS -- what it looks like, what you even !DO in it moment to moment -- we haven't shared with people; nobody knows.” Making a good first impression is important work, but not the only thing that the team has been up to this summer. Chris Remo and his girlfriend Sarah made plans to visit Disneyland. Jane Ng was drawn into a historic mystery of wolves and fire. You can read about the latter incident in this issue, as well as an examination of Firewatch writer !Sean Vanaman, who talks about his process and reckons with his very nature. There’s even more in this globetrotting summer instalment of the Quarterly Review: the coronation of a princess, piracy and bull fights, a lost generation, and tales of seduction, !arson, manslaughter, attempted murder, and murder. !Have a great summer, everyone. Hail Ra! Duncan Fyfe London, England August 2014 A WOLF DESTROYED BY FIRE ! FIFTY MILES NORTH of San Francisco, in the small town of Glen Ellen, lies the Wolf House. “We are heading up to Glen Ellen for a long weekend because there is this nice bed and breakfast my in-laws raved about,” Campo Santo’s Jane Ng told me about her plans for the summer. “The Wolf House is basically the only noteworthy thing in that !super cute tiny town apparently.” The Wolf House was gutted by fire in the summer of 1913, days before its owners, the American author Jack London and his wife Charmian, were to move in. London died three years later, the desecration of his dream home having extinguished something vital inside him. The truth behind the fire was never revealed in his lifetime. ! THE VICTIM In his life, Jack London had been homeless on the streets of San Francisco, incarcerated, a pilgrim on the Klondike Gold Rush and a war correspondent. But he was best known as a writer of adventure fiction. Notably, he wrote the novels Call of the Wild, The Sea Wolf and White Fang, but, all told, he produced over 21 novels, three memoirs, three !plays, over a hundred short stories and an abundance of poetry, non-fiction and essays. Often these were stories about wolves. London loved wolves, and dogs, and dogs who yearn to be wolves. Call of the Wild is written from the perspective of a domesticated dog cast into the Alaskan wilderness, who reconnects with his savage ancestry and comes to lead a wolf pack. White Fang tells of a wolf-dog entering civilisation. Bátard chronicles the hateful relationship between a wolf-dog and his abusive owner that ends in murder-suicide, and was published in a 1904 issue of Cosmopolitan. “You write so many books about wolves, we should call you the Wolf,” a friend of London’s once told !him, demonstrating the least amount of imagination ever put into a nickname. The Wolf had better luck with books than he did with houses. Years before Wolf House was in the picture, an attempt at building a barn went poorly, as London recalled in a 1906 essay. “The man who was a liar made beautiful stone walls. I used to stand alongside of them and love them. I caressed their massive strength with my hands. I !thought about them in bed, before I went to sleep. And they were lies. “They were beautiful, but they were not useful. Construction and decoration had been divorced. The walls were all decoration. They hadn't any construction in them. ‘As God lets Satan live,’ I let that lying man live, but—I have built new walls from the foundation !up.” Wolf House would be different. The 26-room mansion was under construction for three years in London’s 1200-acre Sonoma Valley ranch (which is like 120,000 acres in today’s acres) and meticulously designed by London to be beautiful and utile. It sported a sleeping tower, a grand library for London’s 15,000 books, a piano room for Charmian (or ‘Mate-Woman,’ her pet name) and the very best in modern amenities: electric lighting, refrigeration, vacuum cleaning, a reflecting pool, whatever a ‘milk room’ is. And its sturdy walls were made from stone and volcanic rock, built upon a concrete, earthquake-proof platform. “It will be a house of air and sunshine and laughter,” London resolved. “These three cannot be divorced. Laughter without air and sunshine !becomes morbid, decadent, demoniac. !“It will be a usable house and a beautiful house,” he’d said, “…or else I’ll burn it down.” On August 22, 1913, the interior of Wolf House mysteriously caught fire. The Londons were on the ranch at the time, half a mile away, but by the time they were reached the house was beyond saving. On horseback, London watched the Spanish tile roof collapse !into the blaze and the flames reach up toward a red sky. “The razing of his house killed something in Jack,” wrote Charmian, “and he never ceased to feel the tragic inner sense of loss.” London vowed to rebuild, but the insurance payout from the fire wasn’t nearly enough and he died three years later. He was 40. Wolf !House was never restored. SUSPECT #1: ! FRENCH FRANK Arson was considered a possibility – but who would dare torch the dream mansion of a popular writer? Well, London was not always such. ! London grew up borderline impoverished, and as a child he worked twelve-, eighteen- hour days in a cannery, before packing it in at thirteen to become an oyster pirate. He bought a sloop, the Razzle Dazzle, from a grizzled 50-year-old oyster pirate named French Frank, and made love to French Frank’s girlfriend Mamie upon its deck. Within months, London was known as ‘Prince of the Oyster Pirates,’ with Mamie his adoring Queen – but he would betray his friends by leaving the pirate game and joining the !California Fish Patrol, which hunted oyster pirates. After this he enrolled in high school. French Frank resented the teenaged London for reasons that are fairly clear. He even tried to murder London once, ramming the Razzle Dazzle with his own pirate sloop in a pique of cuckolded rage. London later claimed that he kept French Frank at bay with shotgun fire while he steered the Razzle Dazzle with his feet, which can’t possibly be true. In any case: motive. ! SUSPECT #2: ! THEODORE ROOSEVELT Life in 1907 was good for Jack London. He was rich, he was in a loving marriage with the sexually adventurous Mate-Woman, he had bought a ranch in Sonoma Valley where he was planning his dream house, and was sailing the world on the Snark, a yacht he !built and paid for, and all the while a new enemy lurked in wait. Although London’s stories of the wild were fiction, truthfulness was as important to him there as it was in house walls. London’s animal books weren’t just about animals. They were about getting inside the minds of animals, and representing them truly. London portrayed dogs and wolves as he believed them to be: not mindless automatons driven solely by instinct, but wild creatures capable of reason, foresight, cunning, and some !basic version of what we know as human thought. London was contemptuous of nature and fiction writers who portrayed animals with sentiment and without regard to realism. Writers who wanted to portray animals with human characteristics, individual personalities, and draw them with sympathy, romance and nobility. He thought of these writers as nature fakers. Nature fakers. Real pieces of shit. Not London: he was around dogs all his life, and held his writing to be accurate and !truthful to the dog experience. But not everyone agreed. The President of the United States couldn’t stand Jack London.